Bert shrugged out of his jacket and took up one of the shoulder rigs and two spare power packs. He began to work into the quick-draw holster. Jim reached out and appropriated the remaining laser pistol and tucked it into his belt on the right side of his body.
Bert said, “What do you think you’re going to do with that?” He brought the gun he had used against the kidnapper from the hip pocket in which he had been carrying it, and slipped it into the holster.
Jim said, “I’m coming with you.”
“The hell you are. Not in your condition. You stay here and get some rest.”
Jim looked at him stonily.
Bert grumbled, “Kay. Come on.”
They went out into the corridor again and summoned the elevator. Bert told him about the disposal of the body and also described his run-in with Kneedler.
Jim said, “So that body will wind up with some kid medical student butchering it tomorrow. Some professors.”
They took the elevator down to the forty-third floor, Jim wincing in pain at the precipitate drop. There were few persons in the corridors. When they found Office Number 385, they stood to one side, against the wall, and pretended to be deep in conversation, until the hall was temporarily clear.
Bert said slowly, “This joker knows me. He might not open up if he saw my face on the door screen. We’ll go in fast, not giving him a chance to yell for help. You cover my back and the door.”
Jim loosened the pistol in his belt, and nodded. Bert brought forth his own laser gun, flicked the stud flown to shortest range, stepped forward quickly and burned out the door’s lock. He threw his shoulder against the panel and burst through, Jim immediately behind.
In the middle of the room, a sheaf of papers which he was scanning in his hand, stood Bert Alshuler’s demanding visitor of the morning before.
Even as Jim slammed the door shut behind them, Bert had moved forward at full speed. Before Kneedler’s eyes had time to widen in surprise, the former combat man was upon him. He’ grabbed Kneedler by his jacket front with both hands and dashed him backward toward the wall of the room’s far side, all but lifting him bodily from the floor.
He smashed him brutally against the wall, so that the other’s head was so shaken that his contact lenses popped from his eyes and dropped to the floor. Bert snarled, “Where’s Jill Masterson?”
“What… what…!”
Bert Alshuler smashed him in the mouth with his right fist, mashing his lips, loosening several of his teeth.
“Where’d you bastards take Jill Masterson?”
The other tried to struggle, but the fear in him made his less than muscular body even more inadequate against his aggressive attacker.
Bert Alshuler, his face cold as bleak death, took his right forefinger and jammed it up into one of the writhing man’s nostrils, raising him up to tiptoe in agony. He squealed.
Bert snarled, “Now listen, Kneedler, listen real good, because you’re almost dead right now. Some guys think they can’t be made to talk. They’d rather die, they think. But they’re wrong. Anybody can be broken. It’s not pretty. But anybody. Believe me, I know. Jim here, and I, are experts. We got to be experts the hard way.”
“I won’t… I won’t.”
It was all the admission that Bert Alshuler wanted. He kneed the man brutally, and let him drop to the floor.
“Real tough, ain’t he?” Jim said pleasantly. He was leaning against the door.
It was a full five minutes before the fallen man tried to bring himself to his hands and knees, even as he groaned. Bert Alshuler kicked him in the side, flattening him again.
Jim said, “Hey, Bert, that one was pretty good. I think you got at least three ribs. You going to kill him?”
Bert said, “Not yet. How’d you think we ought to do it, Jim?”
Jim said easily, “Oh, some way not too simple. I don’t much like characters that rough up little girls.”
The other on the floor spluttered through broken mouth and teeth, “Miss… Miss Masterson is in no physical danger.”
Bert kicked him again.
Jim said in mild protest, “Easy, Bert, you don’t want to kill him until we know where Jill is.”
Their victim was breathing in desperate gasps He said, “Please… please. I’ll tell you… I’ll tell you. No danger… she’s in no danger.”
“Yeah,” Jim said. “Your boys aren’t playing for keeps. This slug I took in my side was all fun and games.”
Bert reached down and grabbed Kneedler by the jacket collar and hauled him to his feet. He pulled him so close that their faces almost touched.
“Where is she?”
“In… in a house on the outskirts… outskirts of town.”
Bert looked at Jim. “We can’t leave him here… alive. He might get in touch with somebody. And if we tie him, somebody might come in and let him loose.”
“Please… please… I’m not lying.”
Bert snarled at him. “You’re damn right, you’re not lying. You’d better not be. “He said to Jim, “We’ll have to take him along.”
Jim looked at their victim critically. “Golden boy’s not in any too good a shape to be seen on the streets.”
Bert let go of the man and brought a handkerchief from his pocket. “Here. Hold this over your mouth, as though you have a toothache.”
“My… my glasses.”
“The hell with your glasses. I prefer you blind. Jim, lead the way Back to that semi-private elevator. There won’t be anybody else in it.”
They made a parade down the hall, Jim going first.
Bert bringing up the rear. They passed only half a dozen persons, all of them too preoccupied with their own thoughts to notice anything strange. Assistant Professor Kenneth Kneedler was evidently too demoralized to attempt an appeal for assistance.
Bert Alshuler could almost, but not quite, feel pity for the man. Not more than five minutes ago, he had been in the security of his private office, some university paper work in hand. Now he was a broken, terrified man in the hands of what he must have thought homicidal maniacs, expecting, at best, sudden death. All his plans, all his schemes, forgotten. Survival the only thing in him, his only desire. It was the brutal suddenness of it all that had broken him. It had been a gamble but it had paid off.
In the elevator, Bert said, “Metro, please.”
“Yes, Mr. Alshuler.”
They had to move fast now, while the other remained demoralized. They couldn’t afford to give him the opportunity to erect new defenses. They couldn’t give him the chance to reason out the fact that they wouldn’t kill him, wouldn’t dare kill him. Not in this age of ultra-modern police methods. The kidnapper had been one thing, but you didn’t abduct a professor from his office and take him out and destroy him without leaving clues behind. Among others, there was, in the data banks, a record of the fact that someone had searched out Kenneth Kneedler’s name, appearance and where he was immediately before his disappearance. And that someone had used the Identity Card of James Hawkins.
No, they wouldn’t kill him, even it that had been their desire. And it wasn’t. They needed him alive.
Chapter Nine
In the metro, in view of the fact that they were leaving the automated system of the university city, Bert Alshuler summoned an electro-steamer with manual controls. The three of them crowded into the front seat, Bert behind the wheel.
He said to the browbeaten teacher, making his voice dangerous, “Kay. What are the coordinates of the house on the outskirts?”
The other hesitated and Jim Hawkins backhanded him across his swollen mouth. Kneedler winced in pain and answered.
Jim said to Bert, “Your best city entry would be the southwest. That’d be Number Eight.”